


Perchance to Dream

by 221blackandwhitestripes



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arkham Asylum, Dreamsharing, Dreamwalking, Episode Related, Extended Metaphors, Gift Exchange, Love Confessions, M/M, Poetry, Season/Series 05, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:34:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28316823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221blackandwhitestripes/pseuds/221blackandwhitestripes
Summary: In Arkham, Ed visited him in his dreams.Now that they're both awake, he can say what he means.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Comments: 16
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gedry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gedry/gifts).



> I always get nervous about how gifts will be received during gift exchanges, but I quite like this one and I hope you do too. 
> 
> This goes for everyone when I say happy holidays and I hope that next year brings a whole lotta changes.
> 
> I hope y'all like this fic (Gedry especially) and find it a nice December gift, whatever you celebrate! Love you all <3

“Oswald.” 

Ed likes to think of himself as a logical man. Competent. Insightful, if you want to be cheeky about it. Creator of a new type of world, one where numbers and words and colours mix into paint. He slaps it at the idiots then uses a delicate brush to outline those who matter.

“You’re really here?” 

But there’s no logic in feeling like he saw this very man yesterday. Like he’s been hanging around Arkham as a ghost, haunting in black and white. Has it really been ten whole years?

“Of course,” Oswald laughs, leans on him a little like they’re old friends. And they are old friends. Even after all this time. Even after all this change.

Change. Things have changed, haven’t they? This isn’t the Oswald Cobblepot who he dined with ten years ago. Not the man who’d smiled at him from the cell next door. Not the man who swore he’d see him soon, don’t you worry.

But he’s so _familiar_. Like a lost… 

Dream.

?¿?¿?

Ed had fallen asleep wanting, wanting, _wanting_ in all the wrong and right ways. He hated it here, the very walls of Arkham scratching his nails to blunts, wounding his skull with smacks, blood bubbling to the surface of all the scars he’d thought had healed. And it ached, to be alone again. He’d gotten used to it, you see. Having a partner. A friend. Someone to rely on. And there it floated away from again, trapped by another set of bars.

Indeed, it was his own tears that dried on his cheeks that night, not that of a confidante or a secret. But he had wanted, _oh_ , how he’d wanted.

“This is not what I wanted.” Ed’s head shot up, looking for the voice in the mist that had surrounded him. 

“Hello?” He called. His voice sounded quiet, like it had come from a thousand miles away. “Is someone there?”

“This… this wasn’t the plan.” Ed had only ever heard one man speak with such conviction and emotion. No one else had passion stained on their voice-box like a hand-shaped bruise.

“Oswald!” he called, trying to find the voice in the mist. As he continued to walk, following the call, large shapes began to appear in the gray, dark and dangerous. Their limbs stretched out gnarled and twisted, fork-like fingers caging the air around him. Sounds like hollow screams and ghoulish sobbing filled the chilled air. But that voice was stronger.

He walked on.

Soon, he came to a clearing, the mist collecting around his ankles as he trudged forward. Cold, wet fingers dragged along his arms, sending shivers of uncertainty across his skin. “H-hello?”

That voice spoke from far, far below. “It’s all my fault.”

Ed’s heart seized and he dropped to his knees, crawling forward. His hands searched below the clouds, feeling along the earth. It was slick and spongy, with bumps like taste buds. Every so often, it would shift beneath his fingers and his body would jerk forward, begging for a safer place.

Soon, he came upon something new, something solid in this melting world, something that felt like brick and timber.

“Hello?” He called to the ground and the ground answered back with the word a million times over. “Oswald?”

“What am I supposed to do?” His voice floated up, up, up like a delicate bubble wishing to meet the sky. Oswald was down there.

Ed felt along the edge for some kind of handhold, but felt only empty air, begging to consume him. He rotated around this well in the ground, but there was no hope for a safe way to get down.

He grit his teeth, shaking his head. There _had_ to be a way. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a pack of cards. Closing his eyes, he held out his hand and _dropped._

One, two, three, four…

_Please, please, please._

Five, six, seven, eight…

_End, for God’s sake, **please**._

Nine, ten, eleven…

_No._

Twelve.

 **Splash!** At last, Ed sighed. 12 seconds. About 11 too many.

There was little chance he could survive that fall.

Ed swallowed, curling his hands into fists. He’d come all this way, had so much faith that he could find him. He Wasn’t going to give up on this, was he? He… he wouldn’t do that, right?

“Fuck, Ed,” the voice called, “I miss you.”

His breathing caught up in the wind of the words, his sails expanding, tilting him into full speed. He had to do this. He needed to do this.

He stood, shoes slipping on the cold stones of the well. He held onto the wooden barrier, keeping himself on solid ground for just a few seconds. Just a few seconds. He promised he would do it, but he needed just a few seconds.

Ed closed his eyes. Pictured Oswald’s eyes through the bars. And _jumped._

?¿?¿?

They sit alone in the back of a limo, destitute for space between them. Ed’s heart is fluttering wildly, his eyes darting frantically and it’s an endless battle to keep still.

They’re close. So close. Like an invisible blanket has been placed around them, securing them together in firm but tender knots.

Ed has something stuck under his ribs, and upon examination, it is a want. A _tremendous_ **want**. A want cultivated by a thousand different thoughts, a thousand different hopes, and a thousand different dreams. He wants him, wants Oswald, wants his heart and his brain, his venom and his mercy.

Wants his light. His shadow.

Ed sits there, swallowing like an abyss to keep the wants down.

He glances at the man, this beautiful, beautiful man, and wishes that some dreams could come true.

?¿?¿?

“Ed?” Oswald’s eyes were that of someone who cares, someone who wants, someone who feels.

“Oswald,” and Ed did so hate to sob and to _feel_ , but sob and feel he did, like a man on death row. “Oswald, thank God.” And maybe it was spilling a pack of cards into a well, but Ed leapt into his space like he belonged there and clutched Oswald to his chest.

Oswald relaxed against him, buried his face in Ed’s neck and inhaled.

Was this… was this home?

Ed closed his eyes tight, gathered his emotions into a tight bundle. It was cramped, and he almost choked halfway through, but he eventually managed to swallow them all down and step out of the embrace.

“Are you okay?” He spoke quietly, not for fear of being overheard but because the world was quiet here and to break the comfort would amount to treason. “Has anyone hurt you?”

Oswald smiled with wisdom and not guile, shrugging at him. “Hurt is such a variable word.”

Ed sighed, sitting down on the ground, which was not so much _ground_ but a lake that gently lapped at his waist. 

“Come on, Ed,” Oswald tutted, “No need to look so depressed.”

Ed nodded, then shook his head. “How are we going to survive this?” Oswald’s silence only frustrated him further, splitting his knuckles like an Arkham wall, and he found himself turning his head to hiss at him, “It’s a life sentence, Oswald. _Life_. Even if you get out on good behaviour, I’ll be stuck here until I’m “sane” again.” He laughed hoarsely at the word; _sane_.

“We could always break out,” Oswald suggested, but his lack of conviction wobbled like a man on a tightrope without a balance bar.

“And go where?” Ed dragged a hand through the water, cupped it and drew the handful to his lips. It tasted like something insurmountable. “Freedom is scarce in this world, Oswald.” 

Up above them was a lopsided moon that had fallen off its perch, a frowning sliver of light that mocked him in its perfectionless demise.

They had been assigned a forever neither of them would have chosen.

“You should have more faith,” Oswald finally spoke. “We’ve gotten out of here before, we can do it again.”

Ed laughed. He wasn’t used to despondency like this, not since those dark months that had pervaded him after Oswald’s (would-be) death. Yet, it was certainly despondency and grief that was lapping at his soaked skin right now, threatening to climb higher and higher up his chest, neck, and chin until he was _swallowed_.

Oswald pierced his growing loneliness by choosing to sit, the lake rippling with the movement. In that still, irrefutable quiet, he asked, “Why didn’t you say any of this before?”

Ed laid back so the water could cover him head to toe, but instead, it washed away. “I was scared,” He prayer-box confessed to that unfortunate moon.

“But you’re not anymore?”

Ed laughed at that. “Why should I be?” He laughed again, shaking his head at the ridiculousness. “I mean, this is a dream,” he turned to Oswald who was looking at him like he was speaking another language, “Right?”

Oswald blinked at him. “I–”

Ed didn’t hear the rest, too busy being pulled out of himself, or shoved back in, as someone else’s voice committed treason and asked him to

Wake

Up


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention how this has multiple chapters?

They’re sitting across from each other, and it’s brushing knees, shared breaths and close contact. Ed is an expert at espionage, recording each one of Oswald’s movements for shameful, deplorable uses.

This is the wild side, where pictures that burnt to crisps in fire and fury are suddenly resurrected, folded up in soldiers’ pockets or slipped under negligé. Oswald is not a memory, or a daydream. Not even a nightmare. When Ed places his hand over his in a gesture of intimacy, it really is intimacy. Not wind or air or fabricated thoughts.

This is a private show where they would die in secret for each other. At least, Ed can feel it so much he believes it. And he hopes with all his hope that he is right in this. That this sense of understanding really is understanding this time. Our lord Cobblepot, above all else, please let this be real.

Oswald smiles at him and it’s so much more than enough.

?¿?¿?

“No, _no,_ no no no,” Ed’s mantra didn’t change as each of his attempts to climb the cliff face turned to skating downwards. Pebbles sacrificed themselves off his shoes like confetti, decorating the sky below him. Still, Ed climbed.

His arms were bow-string taut, shaking with the tense desire to let go. _Let go._

“I _can’t_ ,” he sobbed in a way that was rather the opposite of a cold logician, but perhaps he didn’t care about that here. “I need to find him again.”

He’d gone searching in the mist again. There was a chance to see him again, right? There was always a chance.

But without Oswald’s voice, he had no direction to follow and his aimless wallows and stumbling steps had led him right to the edge.

“I can do this.” He was the ground reaching for the sky. “I can get back.”

With every bone in his body, he pulled close, then...

Jumped.

With a hand stretched toward heaven, he fell into another–

Dream.

?¿?¿?

Domesticity is a cursed blessing in their line of work. Damningly boring but such a relief to simply sit. Stay. Eat. Smile.

Ed has suffered cages and cramped spaces, the mutterings spilling through his teeth as it became more pointless to keep it inside.

“The worst thing about Arkham was…” Ed swallows because when he says ‘worst’ he means it, and this is going to be difficult to say, “I was actually beginning to believe I might… belong there.”

Oswald’s silence is quiet like it should be, not cloudy or overbearing. Ed does not choke while he waits.

“Do you still feel like that?” The question swoops in like a tide and disappears just as slowly, dragging sand out to sea. “Now that you’re out?”

Ed looks at the sky like he’s reaching for it again. Like he belongs up there again. “No, I don’t.”

And things have changed. Ten years and things have changed. Mutterings in teeth. Screaming in walls. Concrete embedded in knuckles. Things have changed. And Ed feels brave, so frickin brave, because how else could you explain it when he says, “Not next to you.”

Oswald looks at him and there is no Winter.

?¿?¿?

365 days was 364 too many and Ed had always said so. The Earth’s rotation was dull and _boring_ , dragging like chains, locking like bars, _stop it stop it stop it._

There wasn’t a single molecule in Ed’s body that didn't want escape. His head was _full_ of it, chattering like a frickin famer’s market. “This isn’t Gossip Girl!” Ed screeched in the mess hall, because the mess hall was where people screeched and Ed stopped caring on day #164.

Ed has begun to question these methods, sir oh sir, excuse me doctor I thought your meds were supposed to help me but I–

Have  
Lost

It all.

The ceiling they gave him was haunted and Ed was sure it was all their fault. Things had begun to bleed, dripping from stalactites to mark his forehead.

Ed closed his eyes and he was somewhere else.

The mist was familiar this time, but what was more familiar was the _voice_ , oh that voice, guiding Ed not to walk but _run._

Like the light from the dark, for God’s sake _run_.

Ed’s bare feet kicked up dirt in the grey, and being blinded carried no weight here when the branches and thrown stones could not bruise him forever.

He did not stop at the well, he threw himself over the edge like this life was a burning building.

“Please, someone rescue me.”

Make no mistake, Ed Nygma would never _need_ to be rescued.

But it would be nice.

Once in a while.

“Why is it raining?” he asked, sitting next to him on the concrete. Oswald’s shoulders startled before stilling, sinking, relaxing.

“Who am I to explain the weather?”

“Touché.” Ed’s stare held no mercy because he couldn’t conjure any in that moment if he wanted to. Ed had some type of feeling for this man, a kind of label. It was untouchable. A connection knife, bullets and scissors couldn’t cut through.

So. A hand on his shoulder like a dare. A smile by his ear. “Do you want me here?”

“Of course.” Oswald did not appear to know hesitation. “Better here than anywhere else.”

There was something about him. A newness. A change. A difference.

364 days too long.

“May I?” Ed lifted his hand and Oswald nodded. Ed’s shame had rotted in his cell, so when he sculpted Oswald’s cheeks with his fingers, it was without guile.

“Am I changed to you?” Oswald asked quietly, breath of Ed’s face. “Have I been forgotten?”

“Changed yes, forgotten no,” Ed spoke with that same quiet, that same need. “What have you been doing?”

“Living on a different side of the surface, my friend,” Oswald told him. “But you know you are never far from my thoughts.”

Ed smiled at this conjuration; how sweet it was, how caring. “Where is your malice, old man? Hiding your knife behind your back again?”

Oswald shrugged. “I have no use for knives here.”

Ed swallowed. “Me neither.”

_Stalemate me._

“I think–” Ed’s mouth tumbled out, _mutterings through teeth, you don’t belong here_. “I think I have cared for you.”

“Have?” Oswald was close. Quite, quite close. Remarkably close.

Ed pressed his lips together. “Care is no longer abundant enough with what I feel for you.”

Oswald's hand was on his cheek. Oh, my dear, what a flightless bird you are. A rarity for the ages.

_Release me._

“I wish you’d write to me,” he whispered. “I look for pieces of you on my skin, but you’ve been disappearing.”

364 days too many.

“I’ll write,” Ed was aware that his voice was a snowstorm but some things couldn’t be helped. “I’ll write, I promise.”

Oswald smiled an old, old smile from days shared in each other's company, of days when trust was to be bartered and not shared.

“That’s sweet.”

“You don’t believe me?” And if it sounded like an accusation, that was because it was. Ed would never be above accusing Mr Penguin of misconduct in their game.

“Eddie,” How Oswald could exhale like a laugh, Ed never knew, “You’re not _here._ ”

Ed frowned.

“I’m not?”

8 hours later, woken up, he requested for paper and a pen.

 _I’m here,_ he wrote, _I’m here._

?¿?¿?

“Thank you for all of your letters.” Ed is starting off with the easy things, the simple things. He is safe here, in adoring pleasantries. In thanking him for the paperclips, not the diamonds.

“You needn’t thank me again. You said as much in your letters.” 

_How are you different and the same?_ Ed wants his old knees to have a fling with the ground, maybe then he can ask.

“What is the plan here, Oswald?” he asks instead.

Oswald tells him about the new Iceberg lounge and Ed pretends he wasn’t talking about _them._

?¿?¿?

When Ed’s third escape plan failed in a spectacular belly flop of extreme proportions, he began to question whether escape was really what he wanted.

After all, what was an escape plan without a man to drag along beside him, cackling and screaming as the fireworks of his pistol exploded the sky above him. Perhaps he was simply excusing himself from reality at that point, but oh well.

Ed did not have a life, but his existence was still _heartbeating_ and that meant something.

He talked to the therapists now, and not because he had to. Some of them were actually funny. Dr Quinzel for one. Some of them didn’t understand him, but they were not the first and Ed never needed thumbscrews in order to torture.

Some of them knew him too well. Those were the terrifying ones.

Still, they all knew he had a person on his mind, _filling_ his mind. Of course, he did. Oswald had been there since a stumble through the woods.

And when Ed found himself in the mist again, he didn’t need Oswald’s voice to know where to go.

“You’re shaping up into something new,” he told him.

“Is that a good thing?” Oswald chuckled.

“Absolutely.”

Things were different this time. Ed had done some changing himself. That was what a silent cell had done to him. No point shoving things in drawers, under beds, on top shelves.

“Did you know…” Ed’s chest had stayed the same though, still a cage of worry, of _don’t go too far now_ , of drowning. “I actually always…”

Damn it. Why couldn’t he? He _needed–_

“If you’re trying to say what I think you mean, then yes, I did know.”

Ed frowned, narrowing his eyes at him. “What the hell do you mean, you know? You never know anything. You don’t even know what I’m talking about.”

“Yes, I do,” Oswald replied far too calmly, “I have no doubt.”

“You should have doubt!” Ed had not meant to send his voice to that height so please do ignore it, “You should only have doubt! You don’t know me!”

“Really?” Oswald raised his eyebrow and Ed knew that look like he’d tattooed it on his palm.

“Yes, really!”

And when Oswald kissed him, it really was the worst time to wake up.

?¿?¿?

Ed doesn’t hesitate to follow Oswald. Not because he is a follower, he is not still a follower, but because to follow Oswald is enough now. He cannot concentrate on schemes and new Riddle Factories, not yet. That will come, my friends, that will come. But not just yet.

Oswald carves himself half in light and half in dark again, and this does not surprise Ed when it’s all Oswald’s ever done. It’s his way, and to ask him to change that would be fallacy. Ed admires the guns he chooses to stick to.

Maybe Ed feels like background noise sometimes. And maybe ten years ago, that would have been a nightmare. Maybe he would have strung himself up like a puppet, or pulled out his own organs to be centre stage again.

This is no longer necessary.

Oswald is a marvelous conductor. And no matter how background Ed’s cello may be, Oswald will hear it.

Not only that, but Ed is trying something new here. Trying to place less value on what he’s learnt won’t hurt him.

It’s okay not to be the _most_ of something.

Ed tells himself this everyday. It’s been sinking in slowly, Titanicing itself for sure. But he’ll get there. He wants to get there, he thinks. That’s a sort of halfway-there, right?

Still, no matter how much he tells himself he doesn’t have to be the most, he still… feels it. Sometimes. He’s not sure how safe that is. But he can’t give it up.

Perhaps he should admit it, speak the truth.

“You…” And it’s late, and Oswald’s glass is lower than halfway full and the night is threatening his back with an ending, “You make me… feel like I’m the most–” He can say it, he’s sure, “The most important person in your life.”

“Well,” Oswald smiles, “Took you long enough to notice.”

Ed doesn’t know what to do with that. He didn’t ask to be important, at least not recently. But… he is. He’s important.

Ed smiles and wonders how long it’s going to be until he’s ready to blow all the mist away.

?¿?¿?

Ed shivered. He moved in granny steps, heel to toe. Maybe he could prolong the inevitable that way? Push it all to another day. He didn’t have to do it now, did he? They could wait.

“Give me time!” He called out.

They laughed at him, the screeching wind of their breaths pushing him forward despite his protests. His uniform whipped like crackling lightning as he failed to dig his heels in before _falling..._

_Down…_

“Get out of the way, Ed!” The gun was a shock, but Ed wasn’t one to hesitate.

His chin scraped the ground as he dropped to the wet concrete, but he was safe. He was certainly safe.

The gunshot was loud like they tended to be. Still, it was a surprise. Ed hadn’t heard a gunshot in a while.

How long had it been?

When Ed stood to look at the body, his whole vision tilted, lurched, then tumbled off the deck. “I-is that…?”

“Don’t act so surprised,” Oswald was busy checking his gun over, cleaning off the blood with a cloth.

“I-is this what you do? Y-you just kill her over and over again?” Ed had thought he’d changed.

Indeed, he looked different, skin less washed out, bones no longer sticking out like needles in a voodoo doll.

But, _still._

“It’s not like that,” Oswald snapped. “This isn’t about me making the decision again. I did it, Ed. I… I just killed her, didn’t I? And I can’t go changing that.” Oswald looked back at the gun and it was then that Ed saw the way he was almost crumbling beneath the weight of it. “We all have to live with the decisions we’ve made.”

Ed swallowed rainwater and a dirty pier and a man who had the hope shot out of him. “Perhaps you’re right.”

_Say something._

“But… do you regret it?”

“In some ways,” Oswald tilted his head, “But not all of them.”

Ed hated that he understood that.

“I think I can be rather selfish at times,” Oswald admitted, touching his shoulder, “But then, I’m guilty of all sins.”

“Surely not,” Ed huffed.

“Pride, envy, greed,” Oswald looked at him like he meant something as his lips formed the word, “Lust.”

Ed swallowed and chose not to rise to it because he still had fear and all to deal with before he reached that part.

Oswald looked him over. “When was the last time you got a haircut?”

Ed pouted. “Last time I requested one, I tried to take the scissors as a weapon and escape through the carpark.”

“Tried?” Oswald smirked and Ed glared.

“I haven’t seen you anywhere out of Blackgate lately. What’s that about?”

Oswald pressed his lips together. “Maybe we were wrong to think we were better off without each other.”

Ed frowned. “I thought we’d already established that.”

Oswald shrugged. “But this is proof, is it not? My survival may not hinge upon you, but something certainly does.”

Ed nodded.

He let himself disappear for a bit, watching the sky.

Waiting.

He knew he wanted something. Want was such a recognisable thing. But what exactly he wanted was foggy.

Last time he stepped through the mist, he’d been met with something unexpected.

But perhaps not as unexpected as it should have been.

Ed turned to his partner. “I can trust you. Right?”

Oswald smiled. “Of course you can.”

Ed pressed his lips to his cheek and told himself it was enough for now.


	3. Chapter 3

Ed has been tiptoeing two steps closer, toeing lines, tripping alarm systems seconds before cutting them.

It should feel dangerous. It doesn’t.

Ed won’t do _anything_ for Oswald. He’s learnt that giving all of himself away can leave him with nothing. So he keeps his pride. His sense of being. His independence.

And then he wakes up and _gives_.

He doesn’t really have to. He could leave anytime, really. Nothing’s stopping him.

Well, nothing except the smile that greets him each morning. The Summer he’s been feeling as December grows nearer. The delicate origami goodbye that sends him to sleep each night.

Perhaps he’s taking risks again.

Perhaps it’s safe for once to do so.

“You seem deep in thought, my friend.” Oswald’s hand is a warm cup of ginger tea with honey as it rests on his shoulder.

Champagne bubbles burst in Ed’s stomach and he smiles. “I just… happen to be having a pleasant time with you. Lately.” Perhaps it’s formal, but Ed wants to be formal; piece of paper, ring on finger, _formal._

_Take a breath, don’t sink too deep too quickly now._

Oswald smiles, leans in so his face is _close, close, close_. “I’m glad.” The words conduct his breathing, dancing assonance leaving him gasping.

Ed’s not sure how to tell him that the portrait he’s painted of Oswald throughout the years has become his most treasured, the colours mixed over hours and months, clear and vibrant, and Ed looks at it all the time because it’s almost as mesmerizing as the real thing.

?¿?¿?

_Dear Oswald,_

_My friend. I think of you often. You live in my head like a dreaded parasite and I’m afraid I’m losing myself a little. This place is nothing and you’re becoming my everything. Is that safe? When I leave this place, will I turn into a different man? Or have I been stuck in this mould so long that I cannot change anymore? Prehistoric and unevolving is what I may very well be._

_Stuck on you._

_Oswald, you’ve been in my dreams and sometimes it’s so real that I_

Ed stopped. He wouldn’t be sending this one. That much was obvious.

_Oswald, you’ve been in my dreams and sometimes it’s so real that I feel like I wake up to you leaving me. It’s so real that I can’t even bring myself to touch you._

Ed closed his eyes and sighed.

_I want to touch you. I think I’m starting to forget what it feels like to do that._

His chin was quivering. Odd. Ignore it.

_Before I came here, before we got caught, I had thought_

Ed steadied his shaking hand. It was okay. No one had to know.

_I had thought we were on the edge of becoming something new. Our best con yet: being what we want to be. Did you want that too? Have those old feelings rotted away like old wood? Or do you still_

Ed stared at the tip of his pencil, willing it to keep writing. It wouldn’t.

Shit. Shit, shit, _shit._ He had hoped that even if he couldn’t say it, think it maybe he could…

Dammit.

He threw the pencil and asked it to make a brief home beneath his cot for tonight. It burned bright even from the shadows, not allowing him to forget.

What was wrong with him? What was keeping his feet so badly frozen to the floor? Why hadn’t he noticed the frostbite that had formed?

Maybe it had always been there. He just hadn’t cared to see.

How inconvenient to live in the highest of mountains with the hopes it would get him closer to the sun. What a waste of time.

Ed sighed, fell onto his bed like that could save him from himself.

How long had he been here? Five years now, it had to be. At least five. Five years of failed escapes, ticking clocks and a blossom on pause.

He’d hoped their petals would have opened by now.

Dammit, he was being ridiculous again.

The ceiling was mocking him, knowing it was familiar. _Hey look at me, it’s been five years now. I bet I know you better than yourself._

Ed frowned and turned over on his side to glare at the wall.

Somewhere, far away, Oswald was probably laying on a cot just like this one, staring at a wall just as bleak. Ed closed his eyes and imagined he had special vision that could see through a million walls, swooping this way and that, until he had found Oswald’s cell. Oswald was laying there, yes, staring at the wall just like Ed had thought. Ed attempted a smile.

Oswald couldn’t see him though. And Ed was just staring at the wall.

It was then that the mist came, passing like a book slamming closed. It surrounded Ed and kept him company as he walked that well-trodden path. What once were monsters he now knew were trees when he passed them, so he let his fingers trail along the bark, felt the grit like it could have been reality.

The well was just as deep and dangerous as it always was. But Ed still jumped into it.

He always jumps into it.

He fell, fell, _fell_ , cursing all the way that falling felt like flying right until the landing.

“Ed?”

It was wet and cold and it took Ed a while to realize he was floating. Yes. No. Bobbing in the water, that was it, his feet kicking weakly to keep him above the surface.

“What’s happening here?” With the roiling waves and the crashes of lightning above them, Ed was barely staying afloat. His mouth began to sting with salt, eyes watering just as savoury.

There was no peace here.

Oswald looked at him with frightened eyes but firm lips. “It’s fine, Ed, we can make it if we keep swimming.”

Ed nodded, wanting to believe him. He kicked his legs, flailing his arms, but it didn’t seem to do anything but splash the water everywhere.

“Ed, what’s wrong?” Oswald floated up next to him.

“I-I…” And even in this cold, cruel sea, Ed was able to blush, “I do not know how to swim.” As he spoke the words, he began to sink, the current tugging at his legs, pulling him deeper until his chin wasn’t above the surface anymore. 

**Nothing was.**

He kicked harder, windmilling his arms, but still he sank. All he could do was hold his breath and keep his screaming eyes on the water above him, praying for a miracle.

A miracle was a hand like no other snatching his wrist and _pulling_. How fearsome and humiliating to be _saved_ and Ed wanted to curl up into a ball and just sink for the shame of it, but his instincts kicked in like his feet and he clung to Oswald’s hand like a child.

Oswald was not scornful, however, just fatigued. “You should have said so sooner. I could’ve done something.”

Ed coughed salt out of his mouth and asked, “Like what?”

“Like teach you, my dear fool,” Oswald tsked, pulling him up to keep him afloat. “You’re doing well kicking, but try keep your toes pointed, it’ll push the water better.”

Ed closed his eyes from the stinging and pointed his toes, kicking harder.

“Now, when you use your arms, keep them tight. Don’t flail. Try smooth strokes.” Oswald held his wrists, pressed himself to Ed’s back, and moved his arms in strong, smooth strokes. Not so much like a windmill, more like harpoons shooting through the water.

“If that gets too exhausting, you can scoop the water like this,” Oswald showed him how to move somewhat like a turtle, pushing the water out of the way like his arms were snow plows. “Does that help?”

Ed opened his eyes. Oswald had literally saved a drowning man, then taught him how to save himself.

Ed almost hated him for it. He’d deemed _Ed_ worthy of saving? Of all people? What was the sense in that? Alive, what more could he add to this world of water? He was just another stone made for sinking. It was just a coincidence he was floating instead.

“Ed,” Oswald swam closer. “You know… you know that I want you here. Right?”

“I think we’ve established that, yes.” The water was starting to lap at his chin again, so he kicked harder.

“No, I meant… you _believe_ it. Right?”

Ed looked at where the water was threatening to surround him again. He knew it. He did.

But believe it?

The water rose up like a mist as his mind whispered _no_.

“Shit,” Oswald cursed, distorted by the water. His hand appeared again, clasping his wrist.

Ed gasped for breath as he resurfaced, clinging to Oswald once more.

“Now do you believe me?” Oswald growled.

“I don’t get it,” And that may have sounded like a sob, but that might explain why not all salt water came from the sea, “Why do you even care?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Oswald hissed over his shoulder. He was holding him close like Ed was a priceless thing he was saving from a fire. _Don’t let go._

Ed closed his eyes and whispered it. “Don’t let go.”

“What was that?”

“Don’t let go.” He could say it, yes. “Don’t let go.”

“Ed?” But he wasn’t letting go and that was all that mattered.

“I need you,” he was saying it, _saying it_ , and it didn’t matter that this felt real, that it was a dream, that it was a real dream, he was _saying it_. “I need you next to me. I miss you all the time and I survive without you but it’s so much better when you’re next to me and I know that I can’t even swim and maybe I’m not really good for anything but I can promise to lo–”

He opened his eyes to a ceiling that knew it was familiar.

“It doesn’t matter,” Ed told it. “Something’s changed.”

What that meant, he didn’t know. But when he rose, he didn’t sink. And that, in itself, was everything.

?¿?¿?

 _Don’t sink_ , Ed reminds himself. _Don’t sink._ He can swim, he doesn’t need to sink.

_I won’t sink._

Making himself up as some black and white thing, Ed dreads to touch the colours of Oswald’s hand. He does it anyway as he takes the seat beside him, telling his fear to stay in the bedrock while his bravery climbs the staircase in its place.

“Ed?” The way he says his name. Ed can’t get over it. Everytime, it’s like a blanket over jagged rocks on the beach.

“Oswald, I–” He doesn’t have a plan. For once, he doesn’t have a rotten plan. How ridiculous is that? Everything could go wrong in the slip of a tongue. What ugly mistakes is he about to make?

“Ed.” Oswald turns his hand over so they’re palm to palm. Like this is a fairytale or something. Like Oswald wants a happy ending as much as he does. “You can say whatever you need to.”

Ed laughs, which is a bit ridiculous if you think about it, this isn’t funny. Still, he laughs. 

Maybe life wants him to be a cynic with nothing and no one.

Well, to be perfectly candid, screw that. Please and thank you.

“I’m so very happy to be here with you,” Ed sighs through his giggles, covering his eyes with his hand so he doesn’t have to look directly at him. “I hope you know that’s why I’m here. We both know I don’t have to stay. But… I’m here.” He dares to remove his hand and finds a gold rush rose blush scattered across Oswald’s freckled cheeks.

He licks his lips. “And here I was, thinking I’d made it all up in my head.”

Ed tilts his head. “In your head? Whatever would make you feel like that?” 

?¿?¿?

Misty meetings and wild greetings were what Ed fell into when he closed his eyes that night.

Oswald was looking at him like he always looked at him. It was still enchanting. “It’s you.”

Ed smiled. Moved his hair out of his face. “It’s me.”

Oswald sat back, legs spread, and even after all this time, he looked like a king. “Your hair is certainly gaining in length there, isn’t it?”

Ed ruffled it self-consciously. “Well, some things have to change.”

“I suppose so,” Oswald agreed, gesturing to himself.

Ed grinned. “Of course, some changes are quite welcome.”

Oswald rolled his eyes, crossing his legs. “You old flirt.”

Ed pursed his lips to hide his smile. “I’m just being honest. No point pretending otherwise.”

Oswald’s eyes changed like the seasons, looking up at him suddenly. “Oh.”

Ed’s heart started nervously as he forced his eyebrows to raise innocently. “Hmm?”

“No pretending?” Oswald tilted his head. “Can you even manage that?”

 _No_ , screamed his instincts, but Ed looked into his chest and found a heart that knew how to swim, knew who to trust, knew what he wanted.

“I-I think I want to try.” And maybe his eyes had slipped closed because some things were easier to see in the dark. “But would you even give me a chance?”

This felt like some sort of ticking clock, turning Oswald’s throne into the hour hand, dictating time itself.

_The world revolves around you._

Oswald smirked, but not unkindly. “I think you’ll find I’ll always have spare chances laying around here for you.”

Ed stood on legs made of grass frosted over in the morning. He walked forward like the second-hand, time ticking down.

Oswald had to tip his chin up to look him in the eye. “What are you going to do?” He spoke like a stone well Ed would happily fall down, over and over.

Over and over.

_Tick tock on the clock, I fell for you hours ago._

Ed smiled and took his clockwork heart for a blessing instead of a curse. “Leap of faith?”

Oswald blinked. Hour hand moved to midnight and he nodded.

Exhaling like a man who didn’t have to drown anymore, Ed pushed himself off the cliff face and kissed him. And Roman numerals could be so confusing, so it wasn’t until Oswald kissed him back that Ed realized that the mist…

...Was gone.

Tick tock. On the clock. Ed opened his eyes and the dream was over.

?¿?¿?

Oswald looks at him like he’s always looked at him. “Wishful thinking is such a tremendous curse.”

Ed nods because he couldn’t agree more. “I-I understand that.”

Oswald looks away, the pink scrawl over his skin deepening. “To think… I never thought it’d actually come to this.”

“But you hoped?” Ed hopes.

Oswald glances back at him. “What do you think?”

Ed swallows the salt and kicks his legs like he was taught to. “I think I’ve wanted this moment for more than ten years now.”

Oswald smiles somewhat bitterly, perhaps having bitten into the thought of all the wasted, passed time. “So,” And suddenly he’s there, that hand that once kept his hand away from frostbite suddenly pressed beneath his chin. “What are you going to do about it?”

Ed exhales.

A strawberry’s birth and a blackberry’s death, he closes the gap that never should have been there.

They kiss.

Ed’s brain has been stuck with its hands in its pockets like cuffs, and suddenly it is freed.

“I love you,” he whispers something fierce. Cobwebs in old basements. Saltwater on tired tongues. Secrets in lairs, frosted breaths, surmounting sins, forgetful _dreams._

This is not a _dream._


	4. Chapter 4

“Hello?” Ed called, breath like a fire as it smoked around his eyes, “Is anyone there?”

He’d stumbled in the dark, crawled around and rummaged for the well, fallen forward into the light… only to find himself alone again.

“Oswald?” He called again. Was it the fourth time? The fifth?

How long have they been meeting like this?

He held his fingers in front of his peeling lips and _huffed_. The breath was a ghost that passed as quick as it appeared.

 _I’m alone again._ Even in this Hellscape Winter escape, it burnt the skin of his chest. It _burnt_. It…

It was still burning.

Ed frowned, pushing at his shirt, scraping his nails to rid himself of–

The picture fluttered to the ice like snow. Face down, it glowed like hot coal and pulled Ed to his knees in gravity. The first touch prickled unexpectedly, but then the utter heat subsided to a soft warmth. Ed recognised the feeling.

Turning it over, Oswald’s eyes alighted on him, moving like in a metronome beat. His mouth spoke without sound, hand pressed like he wanted to reach through the surface of the photo and touch him.

“Don’t worry,” Ed determined, “I’ll find you.”

Attached to the photograph was a golden thread without a knot. Pulling the picture this way and that, the string remained just as taut, unwavering in it’s sheen.

“Okay,” he whispered, “Forward.”

And with his freezing bare feet and shaking shoulders, he walked. Wasteland dreams were not his speciality, but Ed had a feeling _his_ speciality wasn’t a factor here.

In the distance, or the foreground, after hours and seconds, Ed found a footprint. It sank deep into snow, and out of the print grew a blade of grass. Like May had gone walking through late December. It sprang forth a hope and Ed held onto it with his other hand, felt it pull him forward harder than the string.

The sunlight dwindled, leaked, slipped away through the hourglass. Now it was only the footsteps that shed light. They glowed softly like the string, lighting up the path before him. As the shadows closed in, bringing their chilling breaths and shaking limbs, following was easier, the light shining brighter in the dark. Life was funny like that.

Ed’s ankles ached with the weight of him, snow melting down his skin until his skin wasn’t warm enough to melt anything anymore. The ground got steeper and he found himself climbing up a slope, trying not to double over with his hands in the snow for balance's sake.

He pushed forward until he hit the peak, pushing up to stand looking over the valley. Although the flurrying snow threatened to white out the entire scene, the lights of the log cabin in the distance burned bright enough for Ed to see.

He tied the end of the golden thread to a rock embedded in the ground, turned around and closed his eyes.

“Here we go.” He jumped, feet slamming against the side of the cliff. He huffed, regaining his composure, before continuing to abseil down. The slick, icy rock stuck slightly to his soles, and he had to tug at his feet to rip himself away. His grip was shaky and fatigue made him feel like he was floating away, but the golden thread held fast, warming his hands slightly and keeping him centred.

He descended, dropping down into the crushed snow, burying his feet to the ankle.

He was close.

Following the string, first with his fingers then with his feet, he walked towards the log cabin. The string had been caught in the doorway, jammed just above the doorknob. Ed tried to peer through the nearby window, but the world beyond the glass twisted and morphed with shapes and colours he couldn’t understand.

So Ed turned the doorknob and walked into a world of sunshine. 

His frozen feet began to thaw, stray snowflakes stuck to his clothes and skin melted into a Springtime rain that splashed onto the carpet beneath him.

He smiled.

Ahead of him was a deep-set fireplace, and Ed found that the golden thread led him toward it. Closing in, he finally found the end of the string.

A single tea cup, sitting on a side table next to an armchair. It faced the roaring fire and danced in a thousand shades of velvety maroon. Ed sighed a happy sigh and sat, brought his knees up to his chin comfortably. Carefully, he pulled the thread off the handle of the teacup. In mere moments, it withered away to nothing. Ed stared at his palm where the gold had once sat, blinking away his mournful woe at its disappearance to take a sip of the tea.

It was ginger and honey, but it tasted like home.

Ed closed his eyes, memories spilling up his chin in a sudden wave. It sluiced his skin, sea spraying his eyes, asking to drown him. But he could swim and he moved past the overwhelming noise to settle comfortably in the gentle sense of nostalgia. He held the moment in his thawing hands like a photograph and vowed to remember.

Ed was startled out of the silence by the sound of a laugh. It tinkled like jingle bells and he felt instantly drawn to it. He quickly finished the tea, savouring the ginger scent, before standing, holding the cup carefully. Walking around the room, he found a door that hadn’t been there before but had been there from the beginning. It opened at his touch, creaking quietly as if in a silent welcome.

The figure behind the door had her back to him, but she struck something familiar within him. Not like he knew her, more like he met her in a photograph or a painting and her image had been saved somewhere in the backlogs of his mind for a long time.

She stood at a stove, leaning over something he couldn’t see. The countertop beside her was laden with mushrooms, tomatoes and spinach, already chopped.

“The top shelf, Liebchen.” She threw the word over her shoulder, looking toward the pantry to her right.

“Found it,” Came the reply, and Ed knew that voice, of course he did. His body finally lost all trace of snow and he smiled. In this dream, Ed had forgotten his cheeks could feel this warm. But he remembered now. “Ed?”

“ _Oswald_ ,” and if it sounded like a sigh of relief that was because it was one. He tipped himself forward, pulled Oswald into his arms and _breathed_. “Thank God. You have no idea what it took to find you.”

It was ginger tea with honey. 

It was home.

?¿?¿?

It’s nice how Gotham likes to accommodate one's feelings. Some days, Ed secretly wonders if Oswald’s heart alone has the power to shift the weather. Even on a cold day, when you can see your breath despite your scarf being pulled up to your eyes, the sun can suddenly peek out from behind a cloud because Edward Nygma and Oswald Cobblepot have shared their first kiss and some things even the heavens must celebrate.

Perhaps Ed’s just living in his “own little world” as they say. Perhaps he doesn’t mind so much with Oswald there with him.

Today, though, it isn’t about sunshine, although Ed still feels a glimmer of it next to his partner in crime. No, today it’s raining, not snowing, raining. Water’s gushing down the street. Thundering on the roof of this streetcar they ride in. Droplets are still clinging to the lilies in Oswald’s freehand.

Today, Gotham is crying.

The vehicle stops by an innocent garden. That’s always the way with places like these. Perfectly cut grass printed over graves, stones jutting out like art pieces. Dressing up death like it’s a pretty thing.

Bright flowers at a funeral.

Oswald sighs and Ed squeezes his hand.

He hasn’t been here for a while. Neither of them have. Ed hasn’t pressed the issue of it. Oswald can visit when and if he wants to. Ed won’t judge him either way. But when he woke up that morning and whispered that “It’s time to see her again” Ed didn’t hesitate for a moment to grab his coat.

Oswald exits the car and Ed gets out beside him. He takes the umbrella from him and opens it above their heads. Oswald smiles like a grateful wind.

Gertrud’s grave is familiar even if she isn’t. Ed helps Oswald place lilies by her stone.

“I know you never knew her,” Oswald’s voice doesn’t wobble and neither does his chin. There is only strength in his weeping eyes, “But sometimes I believe she would have loved you. And that might have been good for you.”

Ed smiles and hopes Oswald knows what he isn’t saying. What he isn’t thinking.

Oswald touches his closed hand to the gravestone and murmurs something gentle and childlike. Ed keeps his hold on him, hoping the simple tether is enough. 

It seems it is.

Oswald turns to him with those shiny eyes and Ed’s reminded of the stars reflecting on still waters before a wave comes. 

“You know, we used to make Goulash together every Sunday. At first, when I was very young, I’d watch her from the kitchen counter. Help her taste test and all that.”

Ed smiles at the grass, imagining a smaller Oswald with scuffed, chubby limbs hopping up onto the counter with that smile that held the sun.

“But when I was older, I’d help her properly. Chop the mushrooms, the spinach, the tomatoes. I even helped her find a cheap cut of meat we could use since that was all we could afford at the time.”

Ed sees him older, wiser, those fingers that are capable of carving out a man’s fingernail, choosing to cut mushrooms into neat chunks instead.

Oswald laughs. “Sometimes she’d even let me add the paprika.”

Ed’s face frowns before he tells himself to.

_Paprika?_

“I still dream about it sometimes,” Oswald admits in a melody of _this is how it is._

“Yeah.” And Ed finds it most peculiar that he has to refrain from using the phrase “Me too.”

?¿?¿?

Oswald had gone and changed again. Face rounder, hair streaked with light, small wrinkles surrounding his eyes like the crinkled-up wings of a butterfly. This was what Ed would classify as Penguin: Distinguished. Always changing for the better. Always changing when Ed wasn’t there to watch.

“Ed?” Oswald tilted his head, birdlike as ever, but _sweeter_ , _kinder_ , with endless sincerity, “Do you want to help?”

Ed smiled even though, “I don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Oh, we’re making goulash!” Oswald smiled over at the woman, “Isn’t that right, mother?”

_Oh._

Ed felt a flush crawl over his skin. He should have realized that sooner. How embarrassing. Suddenly, Oswald was laughing, rubbing his shoulder like he had said something funny. Had he? Ed smiled back and let himself bask in the warmth.

“Liebchen, you must stop with entertaining this man and bring me the paprika!”

“Sajnálom, mother,” he grinned and it was impish and attractive and Ed wanted him in his arms again.

Oswald passed the paprika over, helping his mother measure it out onto a spoon. It was endearing and _warm_ and Ed realized suddenly that it didn’t matter how he’d frozen and shivered to get here. He was here. That was what mattered. He’d gone through the frostbite but now he was healed just fine.

“Ed?” Oswald’s gaze was strong and soft like a tug on his sleeve, “You coming?”

And because he could swim, and because it was warm here, he stood on his tiptoes and kissed the top of Oswald’s head. “Coming.”

?¿?¿?

December has a habit of galloping away from Ed. It always has. There are moments when he feels like he can’t keep up. Christmas shopping, decorating, preparations for the new Iceberg lounge. Ed’s worried he might get snowed under it all.

And it’s in those moments that Ed finds Oswald’s hand taking his, and suddenly he’s warm again.

“Morning,” Oswald murmurs, nuzzling his cheek like he’s too lazy to kiss him properly. Ed blushes, trying to tamp down the giddy feeling of waking up next to him. It feels like a dream come true… or something.

“Morning, old man.” He pecks his lips and giggles at Oswald’s squawk. “What’s on the agenda today?”

Oswald’s eyes go distant for a moment as he concentrates. Ed waits, patiently admiring the crinkles by his eyes. They look like closing butterfly wings.

Huh.

“Well, tomorrow is Christmas Eve, so I suppose we should do something festive and ridiculous,” Oswald sighs.

“Last night, Harley and Ivy kidnapped Bruce Wayne,” Ed notes, rummaging under his pillow for his phone, “She texted me about it.” He pulls up the picture of the girls done up like an elf and Mrs. Claus, Harley kissing Ivy’s blushing cheek.

“Did they get caught?” Oswald snorts.

“Oh, almost definitely,” Ed replies, “But I’m sure they had fun.”

Oswald chuckles like a ticking clock but then shakes his head. “I suppose we shall throw a party. Make a scene. Wreak some havoc.” 

“Oh, of course!” Ed grins, winding his fingers through Oswald’s hair. It’s longer now, and silky. Perfect maybe. “But for now,” he bites his lip, “We could stay right here.”

Oswald folds him into his arms, slots them together like a Christmas card inside an envelope. And Ed knows he can survive the cold, but surviving this _warmth_ is so much **more**.

?¿?¿?

Ed’s hair was a tangled mess and so was his mind. Things were…

Were…

Strung out? Maybe. Someone had said he’d been babbling lately. Had he been babbling? Was he babbling now?

No matter. There was sanity outside these walls. He was sure of it. 

His tongue felt weird. Huh.

“You’re losing it, Nygma!” Someone shouted at him.

“Losing what?” And he laughed and _laughed_ because no one replied anytime soon.

“Mail for you, Nygma.”

“Mail?” Ed hadn’t known his fingernails were dirty until they scraped along the clean white envelope, scrabbling to break the seal. “Thank you.”

Words danced in front of his eyes for a moment and he suddenly felt quite faint. Like he was having difficulty breathing. Like he was drowning.

He blinked, clutched the letter hard, and the feeling vanished.

 _Edward,_ he read, and the scrawl of letters were comforting like… like tea.

_I’m flattered that you hold onto this connection as much as I. I fear that the time we have spent apart has changed us beyond recollection. But I want to assure you that some things shall never change._

There was an odd little ink stain as if Oswald had started to write something then quickly tried to cover it up.

_As always, you have been in my thoughts and I trust that I have been in yours._

Another ink stain.

_Thank you for your ever remaining hope in me. I hope that_

Several ink stains in a row.

_...you are well. Sincerely, your true partner in crime._

_Oswald._

Ed fluttered his fingers over the name, thinking for a moment that he could ask one of the tattoo artists to print it somewhere over his heart.

That was… that was a lot.

Perhaps he was losing it after all.

He let out a little giggle at the thought before slipping the letter inside the envelope again and hiding it in his pocket.

The dinner-call came and went, Ed watching it with dazed eyes, barely registering that he ate at all. He took the meds that appeared in his hand and watched the guards close his cell door for the night soon after.

_Riddle me this, riddle me that, what makes a man all dressed in green fall flat?_

Ed laughed at that one, rubbing at his eyes beneath his glasses. He might keep that for something later.

He slipped the new letter in with the others beneath his mattress, looking around the cracks in Arkham’s brick to make sure no one could see and steal from beneath him in the middle of the night. 

“There are monsters and terrors here,” Ed murmured, “Better be careful and spareful. Wouldn’t want a fly to buzz into the room. No, nope, not that.” Ed wasn’t sure what he was saying but no one could hear him anyway. Besides, what were they going to do? Call him insane and insist he be locked up away from society?

“Um, hello!” Ed laughed, “ _That’s_ a null point.” He waved his fingers about. Then waved them slower. Then faster. Then flicked them.

Distracting.

He sighed, shaking his head to clear it. Then shaking it some more.

Distracting.

What was he meant to be doing? Oh, right: Sleep. Of course.

Ed sank into his cot, which was surprising seeing as it had never been particularly comfortable. But it was familiar now. How disgraceful for such a thing to be _familiar._ It didn’t even have enough prowess to call itself a _bed_ , let alone be the vessel of sleep for _the Riddler_.

He sighed, closing his eyes. He tried to block out the noise and the _rush_. Tried to focus.

_Oswald. His hair, his eyes: Oswald._

Gently, the corner of his lip curled and he smiled.

Soon, the mist came. It came with its cold and its steely breath; its reaching fingers and its unnerving whispers. It came like the rising tide that Ed didn’t notice until he was stranded out at sea.

He walked the well trodden path through the trees to the well. Gave himself a moment before he stepped off the ledge.

 _Falling, falling, falling_ until he wasn’t anymore.

“Edward?”

He hadn’t noticed that he’d closed his eyes, but he opened them now.

“Oswald?” And it took him a moment to realize that there were bars between them, entrapping them in separate cages. He looked around, but the light was dim and it was just the bars and Oswald. “Where are we?”

Oswald was looking at him strangely. He was wearing a forest green jumpsuit that was buttoned up to his chin, just below his painted scowl.

Ed shifted uncomfortably under the regrettably familiar look. “What is it?”

“Well…” Oswald crossed his arms, “Last time I saw you, you shot me.”

Ed blinked. “Um, no I didn’t.”

“Uh, I think you did!” Oswald countered. 

He shook his head. “Oswald, I only shot you one time. We’ve met at least one hundred times after that. That’s at _least_ one hundred times I wasn’t shooting you.”

Oswald shook his head. “I-I _swore…_ ” He pinched his brow and seemed to visibly age before Ed’s eyes. “Sorry, I don’t even _know–_ ”

“It’s a dream,” Ed shrugged, “It happens.”

“W-wait, I’m dreaming?” Oswald wrapped his fingers around the bars and shook them. “It feels real.”

“I’m sure you’ll change your mind about that when you’re awake,” He laughed, leaning up against the bars. “Why are you dreaming about this of all things?” He recognised it now; the triplet cages he and Oswald had been trapped in after his unfortunate miscalculation regarding the Court of Owls. That had been… what, ten years ago? Maybe more?

Wow. Ten years.

“I don’t know, do I?” Oswald answered him.

Ed nodded quietly. He traced the bars carefully, felt the bumps and grooves instinctually. “Last time we were here…” He began, glancing at Oswald from behind his eyelashes. Oswald stayed still, staring at something at the ground, but Ed had the feeling he was listening to every word. “You were… quite mad at me.”

Oswald snorted. “And no wonder.”

Ed licked his lips. “You’re probably still mad in some ways.”

Oswald turned to him properly then, a crease in his brow. “What do you mean?”

He closed his eyes, feeling tension in his jaw even as he tried to force himself to relax. “I mean… we never really talked about it in real words. I mean, you sort of… implied that things were fine, but…” Ed bit his tongue and forced himself to confront Oswald’s gaze, “Were they? Are they?”

That crease in Oswald’s brow deepened and he looked at Ed like he wasn’t sure what he was taking in. “This is definitely one of my weirder dreams.”

Ed forced something like a smirk on his face, hoping it would suffice. “Nevermind. It was an insipid question anyway.”

Oswald sighed, clutching a bar in one hand as he forced himself up onto his feet. “Look, Ed. Last time we were here, we were both mad. But we still worked together, didn’t we? We still got out of here alive?”

“Yes…” he ventured.

Oswald shrugged. “So, it doesn’t matter how I feel; we’ll always be on the same side.” 

And he smiled for real now, felt it lighten his chest. “You’re right, of course.” Even though they were painted like the moon and the stars, they both lived for the nighttime and that was enough for him.

“So,” Ed wasn’t sure where he’d been hiding it before, but Oswald produced a lock pick, stuck between his thumb and forefinger. “Care for an escape, my friend?”

Ed grinned and it felt wild like a back-alley slicing. “Absolutely.”

They ran like wolves, hunting in their pack of two because that was all they really needed. Oswald pressed a knife into his hand like a bedroom kiss and he held it tight, putting it to good use in passing fellows’ necks.

Flecks of blood found homes on Oswald’s cheeks and Ed’s glasses, painting them and this town red like a devil’s moon. Together, they turned this daydream to a nightmare for everyone but themselves.

“Run?” Oswald would gasp after they’d laid waste, commanded order, cleared the way.

And “Run!” was Ed’s only response, other than grabbing his hand. Oswald was a one-way ticket to a lifelong joyride and Ed didn’t want to miss it for the world.

They stumbled through the building, and Ed didn’t remember it being this much of a maze, but he didn’t really mind either way. Still; “We must be getting to the exit soon, right?”

“Well, what do you think that is?” Oswald was pointing the deadman’s gun he’d stolen around the corner and Ed grinned as he peeked around the edge. Two guards stood by with solemn looks on their solemn faces, blocking a door that was marked “Fire exit”.

“What’s the plan?” Ed whispered by his ear, trying not to giggle when he accidentally tasted Oswald’s hair.

“Pass me the knife.” Oswald’s gaze was focused like a coyote’s, narrowed down and sharp like the blade Ed chose to press into his hand. “Be ready.”

Ed stuttered on a breath and nodded. “I’m ready.”

Oswald grinned at him then sent out a sudden wolf whistle.

“Hey, what the–”

_Thunk, cough._

Oswald threw the knife and the left guard went down. The right one was already raising the barrel of his gun, but he was too slow. Twin shots sounded from both the criminals’ pistols.

“Ding-dong the witch is dead!” Ed exclaimed. Oswald shook his head at him, sighing.

“Let’s just get out of here.” He picked up a nearby crow bar that was leaning against the wall and used it to pry open the fire escape. 

They tumbled out into an alleyway, abandoned this time, with no hobos to scare away.

Ed’s heart was thundering in his chest, and his throat, and his wrists, and his thighs, blood shooting through his veins like electricity through a web of wires. Everything connected. Everything charged.

“Come, don’t stop now!” Oswald tugged his wrist, those seaglass eyes appearing all the more bright with the splash of blood drying in his eyebrow.

“I’m afraid I can’t!”

Ed was known for many things. Many, many things. But bravery? That was never on the top of the list. A calculated risk-taker, they called him. Careful. Manipulative. Cunning. Sly. But never brave.

Bravery is calculating the risk, looking at the odds, and then throwing them out the window.

Because it didn’t matter what Oswald’s response would be. This was a dream and Ed wanted to kiss him.

So he did.

Ed didn’t know how, but he found himself backed up against the wall, a tongue between his teeth, a needy gasp in his throat.The world narrowed down and lengthened all at once. It blurred and unblurred like the focusing lens of a telescope. The sky rocked. His thighs quaked. Oswald’s hand on his jaw withstood it all.

Ed _wanted_ this. He wanted it.

Suddenly Oswald pulled away, grinning teeth where lips and tongue had once resided. “Now, run. And actually do it this time.”

Ed rolled his eyes. “Okay, fi– _INE!_ ” Oswald dragged him forward and he skidded on his shoes to keep up, Arkham’s shoddy excuse for sole’s keeping him from… Keeping him from…

He glanced down at his uniform. 

_What’s black and white and red all over?_

He stopped still, all momentum escaping him as a chill ran down his spine.

“What is it?” Oswald panted, cheeks painted pink. His lips hung open as he leaned on his knees, bright eyes bringing the light of the lost stars. “Ed?! We escaped! We’re free!”

“I’m still trapped, Oswald.” Handcuffs snapped themselves over his wrists and he knew it to be true. When he attempted to pull his right foot forward, it was held back by a ball and chain. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“What?” Oswald sputtered.

Ed looked up at the sky and found a quiet, still night. “I’m still in Arkham, Oswald.”

Colours died and the lights turned to shadow. “Oh.”

Emotion burst at Ed’s throat, stringing him a necklace, and explosions sounded behind his eyes. _Tick, tock, your hour’s almost up._ “What do we do?”

Oswald clutched his cheek, sleeve slipping down his wrist, and it wasn’t green anymore, just prison yard blue. “I’ll come for you, Ed. I promise, I’ll come for you. I always find a way! I’ll come for you!”

Ed closed his eyes. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

Ed opened his eyes to a ceiling that knew him too well and liked to feed him poison.

He laid there in the still and quiet, eyes open. And he waited for Oswald to come. He waited.

~~He didn’t come.~~

?¿?¿?

Ed finds it funny that a surprise greeting and a midnight breakout can bring a storm in from the East, but he’s stewing in the rain and gailing winds, unable to deny how he got here.

It was a simple plan; Harley calling him to invite him to a club, claiming an ace up her sleeve. “It’s a _wonderful_ surprise, Eddie! Ya gonna love it!”

As it turns out, there is some debate about that.

“Heya, Riddles,” Selina is there when he arrives, and looking back Ed understands, but at the time he’d been confused.

“What are you doing here?” he scoffs, “Looking for some help getting your heels unstuck?”

Selina rolls her eyes then rolls her shoulders, looking away from him. “Harls invited me.”

“Right.” 

A simple plan, theoretically. But Harley comes with her games and her glitter, giggling all the way.

“Here’s a party hat for _you_ , and _you_.” 

Ed frowns at the despicable thing, noting the purple heart scrawled at the front. “Why do we need these?”

“You’ll see!” she giggles again, placing her own hat on her head and snapping the strap under her chin. “Okay, okay, guys! Close your eyes, Geeze!” She shakes her head. “Ya gonna ruin the surprise!”

Ed sighs but closes his eyes, waiting for whatever it is to happen already.

“Hello there.”

He opens his eyes. Blinks.

“How…?” Understanding dawns. “You broke out of Arkham?”

“Actually,” Ivy slips her arm around Harley’s waist like a stray vine, “ _Harls_ broke me out.”

Oh.

“Oh.” Ed’s mouth is suddenly dry.

He doesn’t hear Selina’s begrudging congratulations or Harley resounding giggle. Just watches the gap between them close like it’s nothing. Like it was never there to begin with.

“So how did it happen?” He asks before he thinks, presses his lips to his glass and drinks before he can speak again.

“Huh?” Harley cocks her head at him.

“Well, Ivy’s only been in Arkham for a week,” Ed explains, laughing nervously. “So… did you plan it out before she–”

“Oh, well, I’m not one for plannin’ before the fact, but when she got in there, I figured out what room she was in and snuck her out last night.” Harley grins. “I still have my old pass card. Probably won’t work next time, but get outta jail cards are usually a one-time thing, ain’t they?”

“Right.” He nods, forces his mouth to attempt a smile.

Storms brew on the horizon.

“One week.” Ed nods to himself. “Welcome to the Rogue’s Gallery, then.”

Ivy laughs like it’s a joke. “Did I earn it from getting into Arkham or by escaping?”

He shrugs at the floor then the ceiling. “Either, or.”

Rain and swirling cloud, Ed makes his way home in the January misery. People are coming down from the high that was December, having lived for it through November, and it shows in the staggering and the vomit, coursing through the city like withdrawal symptoms.

Ed wishes emotions could be solved like crossword puzzles. Insert the right letters and everything would make sense.

He comes home in a cloud, fuzzy like drizzle, and Oswald’s gleam and twinkle is beautiful but it doesn’t change it.

Feelings don’t seem to disappear easy when you want them to. They’re funny like that.

So very funny.

 _“I promise, I’ll come for you.”_ Ed flinches at the echo, looking up at the ceiling.

Today is a rainy, rainy day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the unexpected angst, it just sorta happened


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter

Ed finds himself staring at Oswald and wondering if this is going to last. Things have been sunny lately, but Ed feels fear and turmoil bubble beneath his skin, threatening to burst forth and blister, ruin what little they already have.

It’s that stupid Arkham escape. That’s the problem. If he could just forget about it, this would be over.

But he can’t.

It sticks in his mind like a thumbtack, quietly present everytime he closes his eyes.

Ed watches and wonders. It takes him two days, 3 hours and 17 minutes to ask, “Do you still blame me?”

And, suddenly, all becomes clear.

“Blame you?” Oswald asks, furrow in his brow. “Blame you for what?”

Ed purses his lips, but keeping it inside is no longer an option. “I guess for everything.” And Ed feels like he’s repeating himself from some place or time when he says “We never really talked about it in real words. I mean, we say all is forgiven, but…” he swallows the fear and tries to look away from the odds, the betting, the chances, “But how can that be when I haven’t even said I’m sorry?”

That crease in Oswald’s brow doesn’t leave and he rubs his leg in a nervous gesture. Ed supposes he may have sprung this conversation on him rather suddenly. But cats aren’t likely to go hopping back into their bags and neither is Ed. 

“I mean, I guess I just never really felt the need to…” Oswald shakes his head, “What’s brought this up?”

Ed’s face crawls with a flush and he ducks his head quickly. “Just been thinking lately.”

“Thinking about what?”

“Arkham.”

“What about Arkham?” Oswald has the air of a patient adult working through a problem with a child.

_Dammit Ed, just **speak**._

“You never got me out of Arkham,” the words tumble, rocks rolling down a mountain during an avalanche, “I was there for ten years and–”

“I never got _myself_ out of Blackgate,” Oswald points out.

“And that’s what I don’t understand!” It bursts like a bubble and Ed babbles on like a brook. “You were there for _ten years_. Oswald, you’re the most resourceful person I know! How did you not escape in _ten years?_ ”

Oswald presses his lips together like the locking of a safe.

“Oswald, _please_ ,” and it’s been so long since he’s begged in this way, but he does it now, clutching Oswald’s hand. “I need to understand. Please.”

Oswald’s facade cracks like a porcelain mask and his lip quivers into a half smile. “Reformed criminal is a good M.O.” 

Ed sinks back into his chair, clutching the sides of it in his numb hands.

“I had to make a plan after Gotham was declared safe again,” He shrugs, “Things were messy. And our pardon wasn’t worth shit. So I stole what I could and invested it in whatever guaranteed at _least_ a 1% minimum profit. And when I got caught, I thought that it’d be fine, give me time, you know. Put things in motion while I’m in prison, and by the time my sentence is up, I’ll step into power while the world no longer considers me a threat.”

Ash settles on Ed’s tongue. “You _planned_ to go to prison?”

“It was an eventuality I knew would come sooner or later. Better to make it part of my plan than let it catch me off guard.” Oswald exhaled long and slow. Blinked his eyes. “I-I had to make sure I got into Blackgate and not Arkham. There’s too many moving pieces in a place like that.”

_Don’t I know it._

“And, at the time, Arkham was still considered a death zone. I needed respect, Ed. I’ve lost it far too many times.” And this is where Oswald turns to him with those shattered, starlight eyes. “But I didn’t take into account that you might be caught too. You weren’t even supposed to know, I didn’t know they would incriminate–”

“I-I followed you,” the admission stings like lemon on his tongue and Ed rushes to scrape it off, “I didn’t want you to… I thought that maybe, with you doing things alone, that meant…” Ed tips his head back and glares at the ceiling. “Damn it all.”

“It’s my fault.” Oswald shakes his head. “Maybe I should have just abandoned the plan, broken out, made things work. I could’ve done it.”

“No, you were right,” Ed tells the chandelier with a groan, “Your plan put you in the best position possible to take the city back under your wing. You made the right call.”

Oswald swallows. “I still regret it, though.” Ed looks back down at him questioningly. “If I’d never started this mess, there was a chance we could’ve…” Oswald gestures between them, “A long time ago.”

“Maybe,” Ed muses, “But things were complicated back then. We’ve both changed a lot,” He lets out a laugh, “I don’t think I’d have been brave enough ten years ago.”

“You certainly wouldn’t have kissed me first, that’s for sure.” And they both chuckle, and it’s simple, and it’s easy. Oswald makes it easier for him to breathe.

“Oswald,” he almost-whispers, “I am sorry. For everything.”

“God knows, I’m sorry too.” His cracked smile and sincere gaze sets Ed’s racing heart at peace and he finally feels himself sink in.

This is real. He’s here. Oswald is here. This is real.

Ed welcomes his kiss when it comes, moves his lips against his in sensual brushes as gentle as Oswald’s hands cupping his soul.

And Ed could see it burn even with the lights out: They’re in love.

?¿?¿?

The mist was gentle and Ed took it for the blessing that it was. Nine years in four walls and he felt like he couldn’t recognise _himself_ anymore.

When he walked through the gray, he did not shiver. The fog didn’t clog his lungs and he breathed clear. Making his way through the trees, he saw that they now had leaves. Found the grass beneath his feet to be soft. Cool to the touch.

And when he jumped down the well, he didn’t need to hesitate. There was no fear.

He came back to himself in a sea of grass, tall like arms stretched up to the sky. Soft glowing lights danced around and Ed noticed that they were fireflies, zipping back and forth in circles around each other like a quadrille.

The world was doused in nighttime, the sky glittering with stars, and there was a cool breeze pushing at Ed's hair.

Ed labelled it as peaceful and scenic. But he didn’t see Oswald anywhere.

Suddenly, overhead, there was a flash of colour, and Ed turned his eyes skyward to see light streaking across the navy blue. His feet were running before he could think again, following the trails of burning yellow through the sky and down, across the field.

There was a sound like a meteor hitting the Earth and Ed was not surprised to find his heart shoved in his throat as he creeped closer to the sudden crater.

“Oh.” It stole his breath and muddled his head, but mostly sent his heart thumping again. “Oswald.”

Oswald opened his eyes; pale green in the sea of bright starlight. “Ed?”

Oswald was a star. A fallen one. Glitter painted his cheeks and feet as he struggled to stand up. “I-I think I hurt my leg when I fell.”

“Let me help you.” Ed stumbled forward to pull him up onto his feet, giving Oswald his arm to lean on. “Here; you’re fine.”

“Thank you, my friend.” Oswald's eyes widened when he looked him over. “Ed… you’re _glowing_.”

“I am?” When Ed looked down at his hand clutching Oswald’s, he saw it; the pale moonlight emanating from his skin. “I am.” He shook his head. “How is that…?” 

“I don’t know.” Oswald shrugged, looking him up and down again. 

The grass and the bugs seemed to melt away, the sky swallowing them whole. Ed clutched Oswald’s hand tighter, not sure how to proceed. “How did you… fall?”

“I was floating and I took a leap of faith.” Oswald shrugged. “Didn’t end quite how I imagined it going.”

Ed looked down, down, _down_ below and saw the crater carved into stone. “No, I don’t believe it did.”

Oswald glanced away. “To have loved and lost is better than never having loved at all. Isn’t that what they say?”

Ed frowned, taking Oswald’s other hand in his. “But you didn’t lose me. I’m right here.”

The left corner of Oswald’s mouth quirked up into something like a smile. “That’s true. I suppose I’m one of the lucky ones.”

And they continued to rise, hands clasped like chainlinks, into a sky that was both their own.

?¿?¿?

It’s been a year since Arkham and he and Oswald are getting ready for a dinner at the town hall when Oswald says, “I was considering killing my tailor for his prices, but look at the cut on this jacket.”

He turns. He smiles. And somehow, it changes everything.

“Where are we going today?” Harley’s hooked on with her arm looped through his, her multicoloured dungarees glittering in Gotham’s sudden sunlight.

“There’s a jewelry store down the street,” Ed explains quietly, glancing around for listening ears, “It’s Oswald’s favourite.”

“Ooh, a robbery!” She exclaims, swinging her backpack around and bringing out a glitter bomb. “I got lotsa stuff for that!”

“No,” Ed pulls away, “No, no, no, we’re not robbing it.”

Harley cocks her head. “Then what?”

Ed pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. “Just…” He closes his eyes and sighs. “Look, Harley, I–”

“Oh my god!” She suddenly bursts out, “YOU’RE GOING TO PROPOSE!”

Ed’s eyebrows shoot up and he looks around at the sudden attention they’ve garnered on the street. “Harley, shhh, for goodness sake, it’s supposed to be a secret.”

“My dreams are coming true,” Harley simpers, fluttering her multicoloured eyelashes.

Ed’s cheeks are warm when he murmurs, “My dreams, more like.”

“Aww!” Harley jumps at him, hugging him close, “You guys are so cute.”

Ed forces an eye roll, slipping out of her grip. “Are you going to help me pick the ring out or not?”

She grins that Harlequin grin. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

?¿?¿?

They were the moon and the stars, hanging in the sky, and in that moment and all others, they belonged there.

Ed opened his eyes that morning with a smile and a thank you painted on his star-kissed lips. Hope and love were wonderful, magical creatures and he had the feeling he could tame them both together.

Soon.

Soon.

?¿?¿?

When Ed gets down on one knee, it’s not because he has to. Not because he was told to. It’s not out of spite, or jealousy, or possessiveness. When Ed gets down on one knee, it’s because he’s ready. He’s finally ready.

Forever is what he wants now, and he wants Oswald and anyone close to him to know that too.

So Ed waits for Oswald to finish his steak and look at him with that sweet smile. He reaches to take his hand and place a kiss to the back of it and waits for that crease in Oswald’s brow. Then he says it. “I want to give you something.”

“What is it?”

And there are tremors running through him like a second-hand that ticks too hard and Ed has to remember to be brave when he kneels down.

“My hand.” Oswald’s gasp is everything Ed wants, and those shiny eyes hold the love that he wants to keep forever.

Ed hands shakes and he struggles to remove the ring box from his pocket, but he manages it, opening it to reveal the gleaming band with the pale moonstone. Not perfect because it was “fancy” or expensive but because when he looked at it, he thought of _them_ , intertwined, and Ed wants Oswald to have a piece to remind him of that as well.

“Oswald Cobblepot,” He begins, voice quivering, wet like the silent tears on Oswald’s cheek, “You are the person in this world who I refuse to live without. You make me laugh, you make me _feel_. You teach me about what it means to be alive. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

The tears drip onto the table cloth and Oswald lets out a gaspy little laugh, shaking his head at him.

 _Dear long lost dream,_ “Will you marry me?”

And it’s everything in one word: “Yes.” Then, for emphasis, “Yes, yes, yes, thank fuck! Yes.”

Ed giggles and his eyes are swimming as he pushes the ring onto Oswald’s finger. They kiss and it could be the first or the thousandth because it’s always special and always the same because Ed couldn’t stop loving him if he tried.

“This is happening?” He breathes in Oswald’s ear, hugging him close.

“Yes,” Oswald whispers back. “This is happening.”

A forever finally.

“Thank God.”

?¿?¿?

In their tenth year, when Ed fell down the well, he woke up to Oswald occupying the bed beside him. His eyes were open, watching him carefully.

“What’re you doing?” Ed’s cheeks were warm and he felt slightly startled from the stare.

“Just looking.” Oswald had an ease about him and his smile, like he felt comfortable in this place. “You know…”

Ed licked his lips. “What?”

Oswald shrugged. “You’re my best person. Just… I want you here.” He rubbed his cheek. “My sentence is almost up. When it’s over… I’m coming to find you

Ed smiled. “Oh.” 

And he knew what it was because it was something that didn’t wane over time, didn’t drown in the sea, didn’t freeze over in the snow, didn’t lose itself in the sky.

He is in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! Thank you so much for reading everyone! Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated! 
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed this, Gedry. You seem like a cool creator and it'd be fun to talk sometime if you're up for it :)
> 
> Have a good new year, y'all - Zebra


End file.
